


Tender Loving Kisses On Your Stab Wounds

by prouvairablehulk



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Thomas and James are superheroes, and John runs the Rogues, with help from Max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairablehulk/pseuds/prouvairablehulk
Summary: He hears them before they reach his bench, two men, quietly bickering, voices saccharine with love, bitter with lust. Their feet crunch across the fallen leaves, marking their progress towards John. He closes his eyes against the possibility that they had bought the police with them.“Hello, Mister Silver.” purrs the Black Canary.(The DCTV AU porn absolutely no one asked for)





	Tender Loving Kisses On Your Stab Wounds

John Silver, known to the media and the Star City Police Department as Silvertongue, stretches his legs out across the cobblestones of the path in Nassau Square, and tilts his head back to look at the stars.

“This seems like a terrible plan.” says Max Gold, aka the Glider, gorgeous as always in her tight black leather, gold gun strapped to her thigh. Her bike is parked next to them, and her helmet is half-hooked over her knee. She’s sitting forward, ready to run.

“It probably is.” John admits. One hand drifts up to his forehead and pushes his hair back, while the other rests on his knee, letting his thumb rub back and forth across the denim of his tight black jeans. “I’m still going to do it.”

“Are they worth potential jail time?” asks Max.

“Those leather costumes are tight enough that I can tell you they certainly are.” says John, leering in his sister’s direction.

“Size Queen.” bitches Max.

“Jezebel.” John shoots back.

“Jerk.” says Max, not without affection.

“Trainwreck.” says John, in the same tone.

“If this all pans out, I want all the details. You’re taking me to brunch on Monday. With mimosas. And you’re paying.”

John grins.

“Naturally. Now leave me be so our local superheroes can kidnap me for a weekend of kinky, kinky sex.”

Max rolls her eyes, but kisses him on the cheek and straddles her bike.

“Be careful, Johnny.” she says, and pulls on her helmet.

“I’ll make sure they know my safe word.” drawls John, and Max looks unconvinced as she flips down her visor and kicks up the kickstand.

John knows she meant he ought to be careful with his heart, and he hasn’t the courage to tell her he’s already lost it.

He hears them before they reach his bench, two men, quietly bickering, voices saccharine with love, bitter with lust. Their feet crunch across the fallen leaves, marking their progress towards John. He closes his eyes against the possibility that they had bought the police with them.

“Hello, Mister Silver.” purrs the Black Canary. John opens his eyes and looks back at the stars.

“Pretty Bird.” he purrs right back. He can feel the Green Captain bristling at the nickname, and he smirks to himself. There are no policemen here. If there were, the Green Captain would be too smug for the nickname to phase him.

“Have you been good for us?” asks John’s Pretty Bird, and John nods.

“Don’t be absurd.” says the Captain, and there’s so much command in that tone that John has to fight his instincts down from sitting bolt upright to a full-body shiver. “There’s not a good bone in his body. He’s a disobedient little shit that we’re going to have to discipline until he submits.”

Oh, fucking hell. John’s not going to be able to walk to brunch with Max on Monday, and he’s going to love every second of the next two days and nights.

“I think he’s perfectly capable of being a good boy, given the right - inducements.” says the Canary. “Shall we test that theory?”

The Captain grunts an agreement.

“Stand up, Mister Silver.” says the Canary. “And then turn around so we can see you.”

John does, and then laughs.

District Attorney Thomas Hamilton smiles back at him, an immaculate and benevolent god in his bespoke suit and black silk tie. At Thomas’ left is returned hero Lieutenant James McGraw Flint, Thomas’ lover and Nassau nightlife icon, looking dangerous in his worn-soft and see through white t-shirt and leather motorcycle jacket.

“No wonder you’re not selling me out to the police.” says John. “Do you think they’ll put us in the same cell block at The Fort, if they catch us all? I could look after you in prison. People are scared of me.”

It’s a lie, of course. People are scared of Charles and his burn scars and wild eyes, and therefore John, as the one ‘holding the leash’ (another lie) is also to be feared, but in a lesser fashion. 

Flint smiles, bright and dangerous.

“The police won’t be involved in this relationship.” he says. “But there’s a definite possibility this ends with you being ours.”

John shivers a little, despite the lingering warmth of the day.

“I think we ought to have the rest of this conversation somewhere more private.” says Thomas, his eyes dark. “Knowing what you now know, would you still like to come home with us?”

John looks between them - a returned war hero and a dogged lawyer, an archer and a man whose scream can punch a hole in a reinforced concrete wall - and then looks back up at the velvet sky and the diamond stars. 

Fuck it. 

“Let’s go.” he says to Thomas, and links arms with him, waving impatient fingers at James until he relents and steps closer so they can all walk together. 

“How do you feel about using the color system?” Thomas asks, after they’ve walked about half a block in contented silence.

“As long as I get a hard-stop word, that works for me.” John says. “Are you planning anything that means I might need a non-verbal safeword?”

“Why don’t we establish one anyway.” says Thomas. They stop to wait for a crossing light, and John sneaks a look at James, who is practically glowing with how much he’s blushing. 

“What brought that on?” John teases.

“Must you do that in public?” asks James, squeezing the arm he has around John’s shoulder a little tighter. 

“Does it bother you, darling?” John says, and then yelps as Thomas pinches his side. “What was that for?”

“Don’t tease, darling. Good boys don’t tease.” Thomas scolds, and then he starts walking again, the lights having changed. John takes a half-second to reboot his brain from the mush it turned into at the timbre of Thomas’ voice, and finds himself towed along in Thomas’ wake. 

“I’m not exactly a good boy.” John says.

“No shit.” drawls James. 

“But I have to ask,” John continues, ignoring the interjection. “Exactly how bad would you like me to be?” 

They make a sharp left turn and start to climb the stairs of a beautiful brownstone. James withdraws his arm from John’s shoulders and fumbles in his pocket for his keys. 

“Are you asking how bratty we like our subs?” Thomas inquires, and John grins. 

“I absolutely am.” 

“That rather depends.” says Thomas. 

“On what?”

“On how much you like being punished.” says James, and then he opens the door. “Coming, Silver?” 

This last is said in a purr so low it sends shivers up John’s spine instead of down it, and John pushes forward and over the threshold. Thomas and James calmly shepherd him into the kitchen, and then they all pause for a moment. 

“So, how are we doing this?” John asks, propping his hip against an expensive-looking marble countertop. 

“How do you want to do it?” James asks, and John opens his mouth to reply, only to have James shoot him a glare that makes him realize the question wasn’t directed to him at all.

“I think we should start by seeing just how good he actually is. We can go from there, I think.” Thomas says, thoughtful eyes fixed on the crown molding. 

James hums. 

“Bedroom?” he asks. 

“Yes.” says Thomas. “Come along, darling.” 

John follows instantly. There’s something warm beginning to pool in the base of his stomach, something that has been growing for a while but has suddenly ignited. There are hands at his waist now, sliding under the fabric of his t-shirt, and James’ breath is warm against his ear. 

“Good boy, Silver.” he purrs, and John shudders and pushes back into his hands, and James laughs and bites at the lobe of his ear and pushes him forward and into the bedroom. Thomas is waiting, his jacket and tie already gone, sprawled in an armchair sitting in the corner. 

“Strip.” says James, still pressed against John’s back. John does, but it’s slightly awkward, trying to navigate around James’ wandering hands and biting back moans when James hits on a sensitive spot. Thomas watches, eyes dark, hands resting flat on his thighs, until John is entirely naked and James has his hands on his shoulders. 

“Down.” says James, and the commanding voice from the bench is back. This time John doesn’t try to suppress his instincts and rather goes straight to his knees, fixing his eyes on the floorboards in front of him. 

“Good boy.” purrs James. “Now, crawl.” 

John freezes. 

“Come here, darling.” says Thomas, letting his knees sprawl lazily open. John swallows against the roaring lust in his brain and slowly, slowly, creeps across the floor on his knees until he’s seated between Thomas’ still-clothed thighs. “How are you doing?”

“Green.” says John, wondering what’s going to happen next. 

“I think that answer was missing something.” says Thomas, suddenly sharp. “Try again.”

John swallows. If that was a taste of what punishment could look like, he’s definitely going to misbehave. 

“Green, sir.” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor so Thomas can’t see him planning. 

“Good. Is there anything you want from us tonight?” 

John knows exactly what he wants. It’s been his go-to fantasy for, at this point, literal years. 

“Do you remember the first time you caught me?” he asks. “The both of you, together.”

Thomas smiles, slow and filthy. 

“Tell me exactly what you’re thinking about.” 

“You’d stopped me, and in order to make sure I didn’t escape while you checked on the civilians, you cuffed me to the bars of the vault. And when you’d made sure there were no injuries you came back down the stairs, side by side in those fucking costumes -” 

John’s voice trails off into nothing. 

“What did you think?” James prompts. “What were you thinking, Silver?”

“I wanted you to - I wanted - I hoped -” John says, but he can’t make his infamous tongue cooperate. 

“Did you want us to take you, Silvertongue?” asks James. 

“Did you want us to punish you ourselves?” asks Thomas. 

“Did you want us to leave you chained and helpless while we used you?” asks James.

“Well, Silvertongue?” says Thomas, rolling John’s codename off his tongue like a taunt. “Is that what you wanted?” 

“Yes.” says John, because it’s true. 

“Yes, who?” says Thomas. 

John looks him in the eye and very deliberately keeps his mouth shut. 

James, behind them, laughs. 

“I told you he was a disobedient little shit.” he reminds Thomas. 

“I think you also told me we’d have to punish him until he submits.” Thomas observes. 

“I did.” says James, and John fights back his grin. 

“James, dear heart, what punishment did you have in mind?” 

“Let me put him over my knee, won’t you?” James says, and John might almost classify that as a plea. “He’s been begging for a spanking since the first time he opened his mouth in my presence.”

Thomas grins, blinding, and he lifts his hands, palms up, in invitation. John bites his lips and pretends that he wouldn’t beg for this, beg to be the subject of their bickering, beg to be the source of the laugh lines on Thomas’ face, beg to be manhandled by James like this, beg for all of it. 

Judging by the glimpse he gets of the look on James’ face, he fails miserably. James pushes him down so his ass is facing back towards Thomas, and John lets his hands fall to his sides, dangling. 

“Count for me, Silver.” says James, one hand resting against the middle of John’s shoulders and one teasing across his ass. “You’re going to count for me, out loud.” 

“Sure thing.” says John, deliberately casual.

James’ hand cracks down, and John gasps and arches. 

“And you’re going to call me Captain.” James says, almost conversational. “Thomas will be Sir. Tell me you understand.”

“Yes -” says John, and waits for a breath, for another burst of hot-pain, before he adds “Captain, yes, I understand, Captain.”

“Good boy.” says James, and John’s whole body twitches in response. 

“Would you look at that.” says Thomas, thoughtful. “He wants to be good.” 

“I suppose we were both right, to a degree.” James admits. “Time to count, Silver.” 

The first strike and the second have a long moment between them, and John counts them with a breathless anticipation - that is punched out of him as soon as three and four and five and six rain down one after the other after the other. 

“Six, fuck, fuck.” John pants, and he can feel James’ hands smoothing over his ass. 

“What a lovely shade of red he turns.” Thomas observes. James just hums. 

“Seven!” gasps John, and rocks his hips against James’ thigh. 

“He wants to get off.” James says. “What shall I do about it?” 

“Silver, darling, you’ve got two choices.” Thomas says, voice even. “You can come now, and we can put a ring on you for the rest of the night, or you can wait, and suck me off while James opens you up, and then you can come while we fuck you.” 

John doesn’t even have to think about it.

“The second one, sir.”

“Good boy.” says Thomas, and John is sure this is going to be how he dies. Put that on the certificate - cause of death: the way Thomas Hamilton’s lips look wrapping around the words, the way his voice echoes with fondness and affection and truth. 

“Let him up, dearest.” Thomas says. 

“After seven? Let me make it a round ten.” 

Thomas makes a contemplative noise, like he’s deciding. 

“I’ll make him beg for them.” James wheedles. So that last wasn’t a fluke, Thomas is very clearly the one in charge here. That - well, it actually doesn’t change anything for John. It only clarifies something that had only been partially hidden. 

“Please.” says John, because the entire reason he had mouthed off by not opening his mouth was that he actually does enjoy getting spanked. 

“See?” says James. “He’s already asking.” 

“Alright, James. Round it out to fifteen, if he’s that eager.” 

“Oh, fuck.” says John, possibly more of a moan than words. 

“And don’t even think about coming.” Thomas adds. 

“Yes, sir.” John manages, but the honorific gets cut off by his gasp when James spanks him again.

“Eight!” John yelps, into the resulting silence. 

“Turn him around, dearest.” says Thomas. “I want to see his face.” 

James drops his hands under John’s stomach and just - turns him. The noise John makes is frankly inhuman. 

“Fuck, shit, fuck, please, please, please.” John says. “Seven - seven more.” 

“Hush now, Silver, you’ll get what you want.” says James. 

“Be good and count for us.” says Thomas. 

John does, and each time he counts James tells him how well he takes it and Thomas tells him how good he is. John is shaking by the time they get to fifteen. 

“Color, darling?” asks Thomas. 

“Gr - green.” pants John. 

“He’s still trying to get himself off on my thigh.” says James, the traitor. 

“In my defense, they’re very nice thighs.” says John, which draws a laugh from Thomas and another, more playful, spank from James. John hasn’t laughed this much in years. 

“I think it’s time we put that smart mouth to better use.” says James, urging John off his lap and back down to his knees. “Get, Silver.”

Silver slides back across the floor to the space between Thomas’ thighs, and looks up imploringly with the same expression Max used as a child to distract businessmen from where John was relieving them of their wallets. 

“Please, sir, can I suck your cock?” he asks, batting his eyelashes. 

“You’re not Oliver fucking Twist.” says James. “You can do better than that.” 

Thomas twines his fingers into John’s hair and pulls until John’s head is tilted back. 

“Fuck my mouth, please.” says John. “You caught me, now use me.” 

“Is that how you want to play it?” asks Thomas. “Did we catch you, Silvertongue? Have we whisked you away from a heist? Are there millions safe in a vault because you’re here and on your knees?” 

John suddenly has no air in his lungs, and Thomas sounds like the Black Canary that John flirts with every time he steals something in the hope that precisely this would happen. 

“If I’m good,” says John, “then you’ll look the other way while I slip out of your back door.”

“You think you’re a good enough fuck to get you out of jail time?” says James, and that’s the Green Captain’s voice, the same gravelly growl that has every talk show host in Star fanning themselves. 

“I know I’m a good enough fuck.” says John, Silvertongue’s cocky boast floating to the fore. 

“We’ll see about that.” says Thomas. “Open up, then.” 

John does, and is rewarded with his first taste of either of them. He moans around Thomas’ dick, letting his eyes roll back in his head dramatically. Thomas’ hips roll slow but deep and John drops some of his theatricality in favor of focusing on not gagging, although that doesn’t stop him from making noise. 

“Fuck me, he’s loud.” says James. 

“He’s enjoying himself.” says Thomas, and his voice sounds strained. John is suddenly reminded of the amount of times Thomas’ screams have bodily moved him, and wonders how they handle the logistics of such a circumstance. “He’s going to make the nicest noises when he’s stuffed full of cock, don’t you think?” 

Holy Fort Knox, they’re actually trying to kill him. 

“I want to tie him up.” says James. “I want to hang him from the ceiling.” 

John tries to say yes please, and although it’s muffled it’s still clear enough to make Thomas groan and James chuckle darkly. 

“I’ll get it ready, shall I?” says James. “And you can get him ready?” 

Thomas hauls John off his cock with the fist in his hair, and John pants for a moment, resting his forehead against Thomas’ thigh. 

“Gonna fuck me ‘til I scream?” he taunts, as soon as he has his breath back. “I thought screaming was more your department.” 

Thomas tugs sharply on John’s hair again, pulling until John makes eye contact. 

“When I scream, I win.” says Thomas. “When you scream, when you scream for more, and harder, it will be because you’ve lost.” 

John whimpers and thrusts his hips against nothing. 

“Get up here.” Thomas tells him, manhandling him until he’s seated across Thomas’ lap, thighs spread by Thomas’ own sprawled legs, arms wrapped around Thomas’ neck and clutching at the back of the armchair. He honestly has no idea where Thomas gets the lube from, but there’s slick fingers teasing at him and there’s only so much he can take. 

“Oh, fuck,” says John.

“That’s the general idea, yes.” Thomas says. His voice slides sideways into taunting. “Where’s that tongue of yours now? Don’t tell me this is all it takes to get you to shut up.” 

“Fuck off, Canary.” says John, without much heat. Thomas spanks him, harder than James did. 

“You’d better be more polite than that.” Thomas tells him. 

“Sorry, sir.” says John, and doesn’t mean it at all. Thomas shoves two fingers in and then tutts at John as his back arches. 

“So easy.” Thomas says, almost a scold. 

Listen, John knew this was coming. He’s got himself off once already today. He’d been making it easier. None of that changes the fact that right now all he feels is the stretch and Thomas’ half-mocking, half-appreciative judgement. 

“He asked for it - literally.” says James. 

John attempts to turn to look, to see what James is doing, if the ropes are set, but Thomas grabs his chin with the hand not otherwise occupied and keeps him looking forward. 

“Need a hand?” James asks, and his voice is closer than it had been. 

“Why not.” says Thomas, and then John’s arching again because James is opening him up further, and then Thomas sinks his teeth into John’s chest, in just the right place to tease his tongue over one of John’s nipples, and John moans, loud and long and uninhibited, and someone’s finger drags over his prostate in a way that makes him want to yell, and all he wants is more. 

“Do you?” asks Thomas, and John realizes he must have said that out loud. “Do you want more, Silver?” 

“Yes, fuck, yes.” says John, trying to fuck himself down on their fingers. 

“Tell us what you want, beg us for it.” says James. A pair of fingers nail John’s prostate again and he writhes.

“Oh, fuck, fuck me, take me, use me.” John gasps. “Please, sir, please, Captain.” 

“There we go.” says Thomas. 

John’s eyes fly open when they pull their fingers out - he hadn’t even realized he closed them - and then manage to get wider when Thomas wraps his hands around John’s thighs and lifts. He lets them move him - lets Thomas hold him while James ties his hands just high enough over his head that his feet just brush the floor and he won’t have any leverage - and revels in the softness of their hands on him. Thomas presses kisses to his biceps, to his neck, to his wrists. 

“Good boy.” says James, smoothing his hands all the way down John’s sides until they rest on John’s hips. “So good for us.”

Thomas comes to stand in front of him, and his hands are busy, toying with John’s nipples, teasing across his straining triceps, brushing just barely over his straining cock. 

“Go on, James, fuck him.” says Thomas. 

“Fuck me, Captain, please, fuck me.” John begs, rocking his hips back, arching his spine. 

James pushes in slow, fucks his way deeper with tiny thrusts that punch gasp after gasp out of John. As soon as he’s pressed flush against John’s back, Thomas catches his face in two hands and kisses him, biting and strong and hard. John can’t quite believe it’s taken this long to get a kiss, but that doesn’t change how enthusiastically he throws himself into returning it. Thomas pulls back and runs a thumb over John’s lip, which must be swollen. 

“James, my love?” says Thomas, but his eyes are still focused on the thumb John’s just sucked into his mouth. 

“Yes?” says James. 

“Make him scream.” 

John opens his mouth to say something, and then - 

He’s not actually sure what he was going to say anymore. All he can really process is how good it feels to have James McGraw Flint, the Green Captain himself, absolutely taking him apart. James’ hands are leaving bruises on his hips, and Thomas is pulling on his nipples, and John’s never been this close to coming without some kind of friction on his cock. There’s no way John could string together a coherent sentence to beg for anything. James shifts his grip, adjusts his stance, and starts pounding John again, except this time every second or third thrust smacks straight into his prostate. 

John screams, wordless and desperate, unable to contain it. 

Thomas leans all the way back in, shifting one hand so it’s wrapped around John’s neck, just enough pressure to make sure you couldn’t forget about him. 

“Looks like you lose, Silvertongue.” he says, and John keens. 

James hasn’t lightened his onslaught and Thomas’ other hand is pulling on John’s cock, so there’s really no option left except to keep screaming. 

“Listen to you.” James whispers into his ear. 

“All ours.” Thomas says, kissing the side of his neck. “We caught you, and you’ve lost, and you’re all ours, to keep and to hold.”

John bucks and writhes between them, and then Thomas pulls just right while James nails his prostate and John is shaking apart between them, still screaming, eyes rolling back involuntarily, arms twitching. 

“Fuck.” gasps James, like it’s punched out of him, the vowel sound dragging on as he shudders and comes, hips twitching against John again and again. 

“Darlings.” says Thomas, taking half a step back to look at them both. “Oh, my darlings.” 

Thomas has dropped one hand to start pulling at his own cock, and John starts pulling against his bindings. 

“Shhh, Silver.” says James. 

“No - I -” John says, and then he makes himself swallow and thinks about his articulation. “I want you to fuck my mouth again, sir.” 

Thomas’ facial expression suggests that he can’t quite believe Silver is real. James unties him, hands careful, and helps him to his knees, settles on the floor behind John so he’s cradling John against his chest, framing him with those beautiful thighs. They must make quite the picture, and Thomas’ blown pupils only evidence that further. 

James keeps his arms wrapped around John’s chest while John presses kisses to Thomas’ shaft, presses close so he can kiss at John’s neck while Thomas rocks his hips and John sucks as best he can. 

“Come on him, Thomas.” James urges. “Mark him as ours.” 

John moans at the thought, and Thomas gets a slightly desperate look on his face and staggers half a step back so that he can do just as James suggested. He flops back into the armchair afterwards, and John licks the come from his lips as lewdly as he can manage. 

“Fuck.” says Thomas. 

James helps John with the rest, the both of them licking it from their fingers as they go. 

“Fuck.” says Thomas, still watching. 

“An accurate summation of how we’re spent the evening.” drawls John, and James snorts inelegantly. 

There’s a few minutes that feature a half-hearted cleanup and Thomas bodily carrying John to the bed and tucking him against James before pulling a quilt over the three of them, and John refusing to be ashamed of snuggling in to their hold. 

“What do we do now?” John asks the curve of James’ pectoral, finally. “We can’t just go back to the way things were.” 

“I don’t suppose-” Thomas starts.

“I can’t leave my Rogues.” says John, cutting him off at the pass. “That’s non-negotiable.”

“They’ve got a code, Thomas, they’re not so bad. The Flash likes them.” says James. 

“The Flash’s opinions on criminals and criminality come entirely from you radicalizing her.” Thomas says, voice almost a whine. “Her opinion doesn’t count.”

“She’d be hurt to hear you say that.” says James. “Don’t listen to Thomas, the Flash loves you.” 

James kisses the top of his head, and John flushes, a soft smile on his face. 

“So we carry on as we were with small changes.” says Thomas. 

“Like what?” asks John, suddenly suspicious.

“Well, the next time we catch you red-handed -” says Thomas, sliding a hand down to cup John’s ass. 

John pushes into the touch, grinning. 

“Now that I can work with.”

“Now you’ve created a monster.” says James. “He’ll never stop stealing after that. It’s an engraved invitation!” 

John listens to them bickering with half an ear, already planning his next heist. 

When they catch him robbing Alfred Hamilton blind, it will take no convincing at all to get them to fuck him over the man’s desk.


End file.
